poppyromanov

it’s 2:17 pm whynot pour another rum & Fantathere is something about a photographthat poisons the heart I’ve beenthinking about how all the important& insignificant events of the dayare basically the sameto the extent that I’ll remember neither;I’ve been thinking about howto Satanists Satan isn’t Satanbut a symbol of pleasure & justifiedexcess; is hedonism in & of itselfa noble end; I don’t really care ifit isn’t I enjoy enjoying; I’ve been thinkingabout how deeply I’ve ruined myself;I’ve been thinking about quitting everything &trying to make it work in Oklahoma;I haven’t really been thinking about that;what’s the difference betweenthought & fancy; desire & fantasy;blasphemy’s so near to prayer as tobe almost indistinguishable; I confessI haven’t thought of you in many monthsthough I have dreamed; & how muchsweeter, the dream; your face nowwould only taint the reality that I inventedso lovingly; I confess these dreamsinvolve consuming your blood; I confessnothing; I regret nothing; I am ashamedof nothing at all, nothing; I confess my heartwas poisoned long ago; but look at the sky; I’m still here